is unseen. A gas pipe. Cords over the eyeline,
carried from pylon to pylon, past the perspective.
Is our love the perspective? A line where the skies
appears to satisfy the planet’s surface area–
which ways if you are the planet, after that I am the skies–
which ways if you are this home,
then I am your house behind this home,
which if we got, I would certainly reduce an entrance right into the back fencing
to slide with, string a long-distance tin can telephone
between our rooms. We can murmur at night
though you would certainly claim absolutely nothing. I would certainly claim you get on the moon.
I would certainly still pick to make us supper every evening. Eco-friendly healthy smoothies
that you endure. Pasta with peas. Fried rice. We’re much from the evening
we kissed atop a Ferris wheel, put on hold over a sky line,
which beat to the blink of my pulse–
but our yards can touch.
So I would certainly put a glass of white wine, satisfy you outside, where the clouds
look like sea waves at golden, and my swimming pool is a cozy skies
into which we can fly. In some way the perspective
is turning around, while you’re active barbecuing
beneath the world lights, which we have actually extended throughout our trees
like Morse code. Later on, I would certainly kiss you
goodnight, leave you on your deck
resting in the radiance of your phone
because I desire you
to go home, play piano late during the night,
do not bother with the meals.
Editor’s Note: Poems are picked by Verse Editor Lupe Mendez, the 2022 Texas poet laureate and writer of Why I Resemble Tequila. To send a rhyme, please send out an e-mail with the rhyme affixed to poetry@texasobserver.org. We’re seeking formerly unpublished jobs of no greater than 45 lines by Texas poets that have actually not been released by the Observer in the last 2 years. Pay is $100 on magazine.
The message What links us showed up initially on The Texas Onlooker.
